


and i whisper words unknown

by TheKitteh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Absent John, Gen, Hurt and comfort, Pre-Series, Weechesters, hurt!Dean, physical injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKitteh/pseuds/TheKitteh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly game of tag that doesn't end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i whisper words unknown

**Author's Note:**

> Haley’s prompt was: “Weechesters, Dean is 14 and Sam 10. Dean gets hurt, unconscious and Sam has to take care of him."

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Dean was always quicker than him, longer legs and four years giving him the upper hand. He was supposed to catch him, grab him in the middle and tackle him to the floor, quick fingers should dig into his ribs and steal all of his breath.

Not…not…

That shoe shouldn’t be there. And even if, Dean’s supposed to jump over it, laughing and grinning and chasing after his baby brother for all it’s worth. He’s not supposed to trip, his legs tangling around each other and he’s not supposed to fall back.

Sam’s not supposed to hear the dull thump of his brother’s head as it hits the floor.

And now, now, Dean lays still, too still and Sam’s heart seems to try and leap out of his chest as he nears.

„Dean…?” Sam’s tiny, tiny voice barely makes it through his tight, dry throat.

But Dean lays unmoving, his legs and arms eagle-spread on the ugly, yellow carpet. The remains of a smile are still etched on his face, but his eyes are closed and Sam is shaking, fear gripping his small heart as his brother doesn’t even flinch when he pokes him in the ribs.

All air leaves him as panic washes over him, the carpet scratching his skinny knees that are unable to hold his small weight anymore.

“Dean…” His small fingers shake over Dean’s freckled cheek and it’s too warm. “Dean…”

Sam doesn’t know how to breathe, can’t remember how to without his brother’s chest raising close to him. He wants to wail like a baby, cry and beg, because Dean surely is just joking, pulling one of his pranks that leave Sam on the verge of tears, because he has to… he has to…

Sam chokes on a sudden breath and _remembers_.

His fingers thread ever so gently through the soft mess of Dean’s hair, cradles his big brother’s skull.  The bruising at the back of Dean’s head is hot to his touch, swollen and pulsing in a too fast rhythm.  

Dean’s voice is loud in the back of his mind _concussion Sammy, I’ll tell you all about it_ , and Sam gets up despite wobbly knees. He darts to the kitchen, gets the water running cold, colder still. There’s not many things in this run down hole Dad found this time, but there’s a seemingly clean rag over a chair.

It will have to do.

The icy water causes his fingers to hurt as he keeps the rag underneath, lets the scratchy material soak up. He closes the water off, leaves puddles on the floor and makes a dash back to Dean again, almost tripping over the same shoe that caused all of this.

Sam presses the cloth to Dean’s forehead, the excess of cold water trailing down Dean’s face. _Keep it cool, Sammy._ He tries to control his own breathing, tries to focus. What was it all that Dean told him? _Sammy, Sammy, don’t move, see if awake, call for help._ He has to call Dad… just…

He tries to shake his brother awake again, with no success so he presses his ear to Dean’s chest.

There’s the slow, steady _thump thump thump_ of Dean’s heart; the sound as familiar to Sam as his own and one that still calms Sam down. The words form in his childish mind without him realizing it, echoing from all those months and years they were directed at him.

“It’s okay, Dean”, he says in barely a whisper, closing his eyes for a second because they burn with tears, as the words lay strange and heavy on his tongue. “It’s okay, I got you.”

Sam brushes the water from Dean’s face, wipes his own eyes clean and stands up.

He has to call Dad.

And then… then… he’ll take care of Dean. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr


End file.
